


The Spare

by Minutia_R



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Courtship, F/M, Time Period: Reign of Ezar Vorbarra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He wasn’t the man she had meant when, the morning after the first ball of the season in Vorbarr Sultana, she had swept into her mother’s sitting room and announced, “Maman, I want </i>that<i> one.”</i></p>
<p>Alys has a gentleman caller.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avanti_90](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avanti_90/gifts).



> Happy birthday, avanti_90! And thanks to Carnadine for looking this over and fixing some of my more awkward prose.

“Alys,” her mother called, “you have a visitor.”

Alys straightened the combs in her hair, brushed an imaginary piece of dust off her skirt, and yielded to the temptation to twitch the curtain aside and get a look before going downstairs.

She was just in time to see him step out of the driver’s compartment of the groundcar, alone. No Armsmen, no driver; an informal call, then, though the parade red-and-blues he wore belied that. Maybe it was just that he knew how good he looked in them. Attention to one’s appearance was one thing, and flouting social niceties was another, but there was no denying that he _did_ look very good in them. The bright contrasting colors emphasized the length of his legs and the breadth of his shoulders, his strong square jaw and sweep of dark hair above the high collar.

He wasn’t the man she had meant when, the morning after the first ball of the season in Vorbarr Sultana, she had swept into her mother’s sitting room and announced, “Maman, I want _that_ one.”

_That_ one had been short, and square, and visibly bored, but there had been a grace in his movements, a power that had drawn the eye of every man in the room, and most of the women. Alys wanted a share of that, yes.

Ita Vorlightly had shrugged and said, “At least he doesn’t show up to these things drunk nowadays. Usually.”

And Lady Vorinnis had remarked, “I hear Ezar is planning to restore his Admirality.”

And Alys’ cousin Lena must have noticed the gleam of speculation in Alys’ eye, because she said, “Don’t even think about it, Alys--he’s beyond even _your_ managing. Besides, they say he has no use for women.”

Which just went to show how small-minded Lena was. No pretty junior officer was going to give Lord Vorkosigan an heir, and as for the rest of it, it was a challenge, wasn’t it? And if Count Piotr had laughed in the Baba’s face, and Lord Vorkosigan himself had nearly thrown her down the stairs, that was another one. Alys wasn’t the type to give up so easily.

But her mother had said, “Look here, Alys, we tried it your way, but here’s Lord Padma Vorpatril, and he’s young, and handsome, _and_ sober. And he’s his cousin’s heir, and Prince Xav’s grandson too, come to that.”

Alys had agreed to meet him mostly in order to buy time to plan her next move. And here he was, reaching back into the groundcar for a large bouquet of roses, standing at the front step and shuffling his feet in the freshly-fallen snow, unaware he was being observed.

_A decorated officer, huh!_ Alys thought. _Let’s hope he doesn’t dither like this in a firefight._

A flower fell from his bouquet and he stepped back, but instead of bending down to retrieve it he looked up and aimed a dazzling smile approximately in the direction of Alys’ window. _Alys_ , he had written in the snow with the toe of his boot, and the fallen rose made a startling red punctuation mark.

Not unaware, and not a coward. She hadn’t pulled the curtain back far, but she hooked it to the side rather than letting it fall visibly back into place. There was no sense in giving anything away at this stage of the game.

Still, Alys smiled to herself as she arranged her skirts so they would swirl dramatically when she went down the staircase. He might do, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I think Padma, in this version, held the charming belief--which Alys never disabused him of--that Aral was Alys' father's idea.


End file.
